https://youtu.be/1UR3YjktJYI
Getting all my blades razor sharp when this came on the playlist. My body is trained more than it's been..ever, even though there's times I've been thinner I've never been able to do pullups...until now. Next step is to train pulling myself over a ledge. In the meantime I finally feel strong enough again to practice the patience and precision of sharpening tools. I had lost a lot of strength, so much so that I couldn't safely hold my gear to sharpen it in the first place. I wanted to die. I don't want to die anymore. I just want to live. I have to sharpen, polish and hone, my way to inner peace. The sharpest blade is one that is never used. Normal people would never understand why I have giant razor blades around my living quarters, martial artists would. Normal people wouldn't understand why I keep them clean, oiled, and sharp. They wouldn't understand that when I care for them, I am caring for my grandfather in heaven. They wouldn't understand that when I train with them, I am cutting down ghosts, I am saving my life. They think I'm an animal. Insane. In the old times they would be bowing to me. They would be begging me to protect them, to fight for them. They wouldn't care my temperament, of visions, all they would care was that I was dedicated and whole in my faith and honor and obedience, and I would be totally, for a price, the simple, and small price, of a virgin, of land, and of a title. And they would give it to me. Because I wouldn't be foolish, I would be cunning, I wouldn't stick my neck out, and thus I wouldn't die, but I wouldn't be a coward, and thus I would have glory in battle. I would likely fall in a duel, not in battle, I would retire if I could, but I would die in a duel, my sword arm would be cut, it would break the bones and the forearm would be hanging by skin, it would be cut because I would have taken a careless lunge which penetrated my opponents heart, I'd walk away, be cauterized, and die of infection. But at least I would have lived. People can't live now. Everyone has a number not a name. There are no more free men of common birth, all men of common birth are born slaves, and this doesn't mean it hasn't happened before, but that doesn't mean there were never free societies and peoples, and it doesn't mean there won't be again. The key to a rezor sharp blade is not just a whet stone, or a strope, I believe the secret is a bit of a cheat, get yourself 1000 grit wet dry metal sandpaper, and work your way up to 5000, got to pinch off a strip and wet it, keep wetting it as needed, pinch that blade with the folded sandpaper, and stroke that baby, carefully, just pinch it and remember, if you fuck up you can get cut, so don't fuck up, go slow, stop when you get tired, the blade will be there later. This pinching on the blade creates a naturally narrow edge, and you can literally feel the bumps in the blade, the rough spots, you smooth it out over time, move up until you're polishing it, and it'll be scary sharp. Proper sharp. And then you put it away, and oil it once a year. Oh and train with it in its sheeth. Cut practice as much as you want. Use wet newspaper wrapped around a wooden dowl. Nobody is made of money and tatsumi mats are fucking expensive. And plastic jugs not replicate anything but plastic jugs. Train hard little batman, and train safe./blogpost